Grains of the Golden Sand
by Sisyphean Effort
Summary: Traveling alone after the deaths of Rory and Amy, the Doctor is forced to face some rather uncomfortable truths about himself and his darker nature. A two-parter that starts off PG, but then veers into M. Warnings: Inevitable slash. Dark themes. 11X MasterX10.


_Standard disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

_Timeline: Takes place shortly after the deaths of Amy and Rory, but pre-Clara._

_Author's note: I started this piece way back in March but left it half-finished. After binge watching some Dr. Who on my vacation this week, I went back and took a look at this story and decided, you know what, this isn't half-bad. And I hope you, fellow readers, feel the same way (and maybe give me the proper inspiration to finally finish it)._

"Grains of the Golden Sand"

1.

The galaxy near the rings of Akhaten glowed and pulsed in silent anticipation. The dark velvety blanket of twinkling stars was certainly quiet now, making it a more than welcoming nest/rest stop for the TARDIS to gently hover in, but soon its unassuming sky would be alive and bursting with the brightest fireworks of unimaginable color. In just a few more minutes, the thousand year meteor shower would begin, and the Doctor had front row seats. Well, actually, he had just the one seat: specifically, a rather beat-up looking beach chair that he had pulled over to the open TARDIS doors especially for the viewing.

But for the moment that seat remained empty.

Sitting by the folding chair was an antique gramophone, a wooden and brass contraption with a large golden lily for a horn that was currently blaring out scratchy blues music into an otherwise silent universe. 1930's American singer Lil Johnson assailed the stars with strains of stride piano and suggestive lyrics:

_Selling Nuts! Hot nuts!_

_ Anybody here wanna buy my nuts?_

_ Selling nuts, hot nuts,_

_ I've got nuts for sale_

_ Selling one for five, two for ten,_

_ If you buy 'em once, you'll buy 'em again_

_ Selling nuts, hot nuts,_

_ Buy 'em from the peanut man!_

_ Nuts! Hot nuts!_

_ Anybody here wanna buy my nuts?_

_ Selling nuts, hot nuts,_

_ I've got nuts for sale_

_ They tell me your nuts is mighty fine_

_ But I bet your nuts isn't hard as mine_

_ Selling nuts, hot nuts,_

_ Buy 'em from the peanut man!_

Over the old-timey (or perhaps new- or now-timey?) jaunty sounds of the phonograph came another less soothing, grinding sound, then a giant _POP! _and after that, some indelicate swear words spoken in heated Gallifreyan. After a few moments, the Doctor, dressed in his usual bow tie and skinny pants, but with the addition of a floppy beach hat (to go with the chair, of course), came over to open TARDIS doors to fling out a strange yellow mixture from a gleaming silver pitcher. Suddenly the air smelled strongly of bananas.

"Making a banana daiquiri in pre-revolutionary France was strangely easier," he muttered to himself, before returning to his blender for another go.

The TARDIS console glowed comfortingly in the gold-tinged control room, it's brass gears and green sea anemone lights looking oddly incongruous next to the sleek silver and black Cuisinart blender. A rolling cart with some bulbous glass flutes, 2 bunches of bananas and a half empty bottle of Captain Morgan sat nearby. The Doctor replaced the metal pitcher and, feeling somewhat defeated by a bland kitchen appliance, leaned low into the TARDIS console, seeking comfort from it like a lonely cat leaning into its owner's legs.

After a couple of seconds, the Doctor straightened. He lifted his hat and brushed his floppy brown hair back from his forehead, a firm, resolute expression on his face. "I will not be defeated by uncooperative cocktails. I am the Doctor." He took his pocketwatch from his waistcoat and flipped open the lid, consulting the time. Five minutes until the meteor shower. He snapped the lid shut and replaced the watch. "If only Amy were here, then this would be easy. And we could come back late next month and see the ceremony of the Hundred Years Queen. She would have liked that," he muttered absently to random objects scattered about the room. His resolute expression crumbled. The Doctor pivoted around to the rolling cart. He started to reach for a batch of bananas, paused, then-as if his hand had a traitorous mind of its own-he reached over and snatched up the half empty bottle of rum instead. He abandoned the TARDIS console, walking with a sluggish step and a bowed head back to his beach chair, and sat down. He uncorked the bottle and took a long drink, his eyes distant as he thought about his long lost friends. Then he settled back into the chair, stretching out his long legs and tugging his floppy hat down over his eyes.

After a couple of minutes the gramophone's music became punctuated with loud, drunken Timelord snores.

* * *

><p><em>Come on baby, let's have some fun,<em>

_Just put your hot dog in my bun_

_And I'll have that thing,_

_That thing-a-ling_

_Just press my button, give my bell a ring!_

_My man's out there in the rain and cold_

_He's go the right key, but just can't find the hole_

_He says, "Where's that thing?"_

_That thing-a-ling?_

_I been pressin' your button, and your bell won't ring…"_

The Doctor jolted awake. Party streamers of broken starlight zagged and burst in an array of riotous colors before his sleep-tinged eyes, making a giant quilt-like pattern out of the sky that was so overwhelmingly bright that the Doctor had to shield his eyes with his hands. He stood up groggily, nearly tripping over his chair as the meteor shower danced and paraded before him. He knocked into the gramophone, sending the needle _skreeing! _across the vinyl disc, causing the record to jump and skip. The lyric sang over and over: _pressin' your button pressin' your button pressin' your button pressin' your button. _Finally, out of frustration, the Doctor kicked the phonograph, and the machine finally righted itself.

_Now tell me Daddy, what it's all about_

Doctor…

_Tryin' to pinch your spark plug an it's all worn out_

Doctor!

_I can't use that thing_

_ That thing-a-ling_

_ I been pressin' your-_

DOCTOR!

"Amy?" The Doctor turned in a bewildered circle, looking around for the source of that familiar, heavily accented voice-

-DOCTOR! HELP ME!

"Amy!" The Doctor ran past the TARDIS console and down a long corridor, drawn by the sound of utter terror in that voice. "Amy where are you?!"

DOCTOR! HELP!

The Doctor darted down a second corridor, heading for a pair of heavy, wooden double doors. He burst through the doors and into his library, its multitude of overhanging galleries spiraling heavenward like Jack's beanstalk. In the very center was a large rectangular swimming pool. Water splashed and foamed and a swirl of red hair could be seen just below the surface. The Doctor yelled, "Amy! I'm coming!" and without hesitation he dove into the pool. The Doctor swam deep into the center, searching for that speck of red, but saw nothing. Just bubbles and an endless ocean of blue. He looked everywhere, but there was nothing, nothing. Desperate, the Doctor swam to the surface and-

-_Bang!_

_ -_the top of his head encountered what felt like heavy glass. It was like an impenetrable barrier had appeared over the top of the pool's surface. The Doctor flailed against it with his hands: _Bang! Bang! Bang! _but to no effect. He reached for his sonic screwdriver before he realized that it was inside his coat, the coat that he wasn't wearing. _The coat he had flung over the back of the beach chair._ Through the wavy surface of the water, the Doctor thought he saw a figure standing by the pool-

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

-the figure of a man wearing a dark coat and white shirt-

_ Bang! Bang! Bang!_

-a motionless statue of a figure, that did nothing to either aid or hinder the Doctor-

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

_ -_a figure that finally began to recede and fade, just as the Doctor himself began to recede and fade. And then-

_Bang! Bang! Ba-_

-nothing.

* * *

><p>The Doctor coughed violently, water dribbling over pristine white tiles. His vision blurred and waved, like the ripples through the water. <em>The water<em>. But the Doctor was no longer in the water; he was lying awake on a cold, hard surface, choking out bits of his own swimming pool. He crawled to his hands and knees, his hand passing over something that felt, strangely, like paper. He picked up the object, his eyes finally coming into focus. It was an advertisement, something torn from a magazine. A picture of Amy with a bottle of perfume. And in the corner a familiar caption: _For the girl who's tired of waiting. _The Doctor let the page flutter back to the ground like a discarded leaf. He groped along the floor until he came to column, then he sat with his back against it, his lungs gulping in the welcome air.

"Got yourself into quite a fix there, didn't you?"

The Doctor literally stopped breathing at the sound of that familiar voice. That voice: it was the sound of his childhood, of memory, of friendship, of rivalry, of broken things. And worse still: it was the sound of drums_._ The Doctor looked back down at the advertisement. It had changed into a political flyer with the message _VOTE FOR SAXXON! _ printed across it in big, block letters. The Doctor began to laugh mirthlessly to himself. "So it was you. You're the one who caused this."

"Really, Doctor, you give me too much credit."

"Why not? It's just like you to torture me like that."

"Is it? Still, your conclusion is completely illogical. Can't you see that?"

"How so?"

"Because I'm dead, remember?"

The Doctor went silent. From around the column appeared the Master, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, a familiar boyish smirk on his face. He knelt down next to the Doctor. His hand shot out and the Doctor automatically flinched away, but the Master only tapped the top of his head as if he were testing to see if it were hollow, like a coconut. "So I'm the one who's torturing you? Hmm_, _not such a smart cookie after all," he declared, before standing and straightening his tie.

The Doctor wheezed. "Are you denying your involvement in this?"

The Master turned his back and shrugged out a sigh. "Always so quick with the accusations where I'm concerned. You know, you used to be such a bright boy." He clicked his tongue, and began walking away, a monochromatic mirage shrinking fast into the blurry distance.

The Doctor sputtered out more water. "Wait! Where are you going? And what have you done with Amy?" This time, the Master didn't speak. His only answer was the echoing sound of his black patent shoes on the pool tile as he strolled insouciantly away, singing softly to himself:

_"Selling nuts, hot nuts. You buy 'em from the peanut man..."_

_To be continued..._


End file.
